


Katniss No Name

by aymanderz



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aymanderz/pseuds/aymanderz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Katniss. I don’t remember my last name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Katniss No Name

My name is Katniss. I don’t remember my last name.

According to the orphanage, my mother was seventeen and homeless when she had me. I don’t know anything about my father or why my mother was homeless. 

I do know that she was struggling to make enough money to feed me until she figured out that she couldn’t take care of me any longer. On my fifth birthday she placed me in an orphanage and left me to face the world alone. I had no idea what was happening to me and spent months crying her name, fearing the shadows that watched me while I slept. I pleaded with the loneliness to bring me back to her, to someone familiar, someone warm. But nothing ever came.

One morning I could hear the owners of the orphanage arguing in the other room about no one adopting me yet. I was fourteen at the time. Who would want me? I would be thrown out to the dogs, the dirty streets, and the life I had always known before. At the age of eighteen, I would be disposable garbage in the corner of an alley, waiting for someone to blow me along like the ripped newspaper from last year that floats from place to place by the force of another’s foot.

But I wasn’t always alone. I eventually made friends, but they were always adopted soon after and I was stuck looking for someone new to keep my company. Whenever someone came to the orphanage looking to adopt, they passed right by me without a second glance, sometimes not even a first.

I was invisible.

Sometimes I would steal make up from the women that would come and go through the building. I put it on so that I would stand out, but everyone gave me dirty looks.

I gave up on trying and it became a waiting game.

It was two weeks before Christmas, which meant two weeks until my fifteenth birthday.

I was almost an adult with no one to trust.

I jumped out of my cot and walked to the cafeteria for breakfast. There were only a few people around— everyone else had been taken to warm homes with loving parents, and with a new community home down the block there were hardly any new comers.

I was eating my toast when the front doors opened; so loud that I could hear them bang through the thick brick walls of the cafeteria.

There was screaming, a woman screaming, her voice filled with only anger. Curiosity rose in me and I looked around, playing with the crust of my toast, acting natural. When I realized that no one cared enough to pay attention, I walked toward the cafeteria exit and sneaked behind a wooden wardrobe by the entrance of the building.

The screaming grew louder and a boy fell onto his face right beside the space between the wall and the wardrobe. The screaming woman must have thrown him pretty hard because the floorboards shook the ground under my feet.

He looked up at me and I blinked. His face was covered in blood and all I could see were his eyes, so blue, so intensely gazing at me, like God had sent me to save him from this cruel woman…this cruel place. I knelt down toward him, staying out of sight behind the wardrobe. 

His hair was a mess and he smelled of garbage. I tried not to cough from the stench. I looked back at him and we stared at each other in silence until the woman picked him up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him into the orphanage owner’s face, yelling again. I flinched as she kept screaming how worthless this boy was, how she had kicked him out weeks ago, but he kept coming back. How she didn’t want him. How nobody would want him.

My heart ached for this boy and though I didn’t even know his name, I wanted to tell him that they’re wrong. I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t worthless and that I wanted him.

The woman pushed the boy to the ground again, much harder this time, so hard that I jumped when he hit the floor even though I knew it was going to happen. I could feel his pain. I could feel every crack of his bones inside my chest.

I wanted to protect him, stand in front of him, take the hits for him, but I was so afraid. I knew how it felt to bleed from every inch of my body and to know that no one here would patch it up.

We were broken dolls with loose stitching and no mender to put the pieces together.

The fighting went on for an agonizing ten minutes and my legs were shaking in fear that my face would be the next to smack onto the wooden floor.

When the angry woman left, so did the orphanage owner. His name was Mr. Snow. He pretended to care for all of us; he took in any unwanted child, no matter what was wrong with them or the emotional baggage they carried.

He was a very angry man and he liked to have a punching bag every once in a while.

I could hear Mr. Snow walking farther away and I could tell he was carrying the boy because he passed out about five minutes ago.

For a moment when I saw him on the floor, from the very first glance between us, I grew curious as to who the boy was and why he was here. I wanted to know what his name was, and where he was from.

But then Mr. Snow stopped his movements, and his footsteps grew closer towards me. I must have been breathing too loud. All I could think was to run.

“Katniss,” he announced loudly.

He knew I was behind the wardrobe the entire time.

“What are you doing out and about? Shouldn’t you be eating breakfast in the cafeteria?”

I shyly poked my head out from behind the wardrobe, my only protection.

“Yes sir, I’m sorry. I just thought I left something in the foyer.” I spoke softly with my head down.

I couldn’t look at Mr. Snow. I couldn’t see the bloody boy in his arms. I couldn’t get those blue eyes out of my head.

“Are you sure that’s why you are here?” He looked at me with cold curiosity, almost like he could see right through me and read my thoughts.

I finally looked up for the puddle of the boy’s blood under my shoes. And there he was draped in Mr. Snow’s arms with messy blonde hair.

He looked like a porcelain doll dropped in red paint.

It took me a moment, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

“Yes s-sir, I’m sure,” I said. I hoped that he didn’t hear the shake in my voice.

“Fair enough,” he said giving me the cue to go somewhere else, like he was convinced that I hadn’t seen the bloody scene. I nodded.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to my office and fill out some paperwork,” he cleared his throat and walked past me. Before he entered his office he looked back at me for a quick second to make sure I was going back into the cafeteria. I could see something in his eyes; they were trying to tell me something. He knew what I had seen, he knew I was lying, he knew my every thought. I frowned and walked back into the cafeteria, praying that he’d never give me that look again.

A day went by before I had seen the boy again. He must have spent the night in medical room, for all those cuts and bruises. Not that the nurses did much. They just sat around, smoked their cigarettes, and laughed at whoever was on the gurney. Maybe he broke his nose or possibly an arm. That angry woman did throw him hard.

For some reason I began to worry.

I didn’t know this boy, but he suddenly became a part of my thoughts, probably because I had nothing else to think about.

It was just after dinner when I was walking back to my cot and noticed that the one beside me had been made. I was usually alone in this room.

I was secluded, an outcast.

Mr. Snow walked into my room smiling, which was odd because he never came in here.

“Hello Mr. Snow,” I greeted him warily.

“Hello Katniss,” he said in return.

“You have a new roommate,” he said, still standing near the door, far away from me, the reject.

I looked straight at him, “so that is why the cot is made?”

I, Katniss No Name, have a roommate; a roommate that I will grow to love, and suddenly lose.

“Yes, would you like to meet him?” he asked, gesturing towards the door.

“Yes, where is he?”

I started to get nervous. It had to be the boy. Would they pair me with a boy? My roommates had always been girls.

“Come on in, kid!” he shouted out the door as the boy walked into the room. “I don’t have all day.”

He looked much better now. He still looked tired and beaten, but he wasn’t bloody.

We shook hands, and I fully realized then that my new roommate just so happened to be the boy that held possession of my thoughts for the last twenty-four hours.

“P-Peeta, my name’s Peeta, ” he stuttered, giving me a gentle kiss on the back of my hand.

Human contact. Loving human contact. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

“I’m Katniss.”

I could feel the scars on his hand while he still held mine, making me shiver with an overwhelming feeling of fear, not so much from the kiss, but from how he got that scar; how he got all of his scars.

Mr. Snow put his hands on both of our shoulders which made the both of us jump, “This looks like the start of a new friendship.” He glared at me with venomous eyes and quickly made his way out of the room.

The silence grew between Peeta and me, but it was comfortable silence.

He sat on his cot and I followed by sitting on mine which was right next to his.

I couldn’t help but stare at his bruises.

“So how long have you been here?” he asked, unpacking his duffel bag.

“Uhm,” I stopped to think for a moment. What if this ruined my chances of being his friend? The fact that I was so unwanted that I’ve practically been here my entire life? I wasn’t going to let that happen.

“I’m not exactly sure. You just, well. You lose track of time in here.”

“Does this Snow guy not give you orphans a calendar?” He asked jokingly, but in a way it hurt my feelings.

I didn’t choose to be this clueless. I didn’t choose to be parent-less. But he didn’t understand that he was an orphan now too, so I forgave him instantly.

“I don’t like talking about how long I’ve been here,” I admit quietly, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.

“Oh,” he took a deep breath and placed his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to upset you, I was just trying to make light of the situation.” His eyes begged me for forgiveness, those blue eyes that seemed like an endless ocean, waiting to be explored. He broke our stare and finished unpacking his five items, which seemed to take forever, and left the room.

A couple of hours later, Peeta walked back into the room and yawned as if sleep weren’t a luxury, like it was something so simple. He would soon learn that getting a good night’s sleep was rare.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the darkness of the room so I could see him.

“Oh sorry, did I wake you?” he whispered.

He ignored the fact that I was laying right there and took off his shirt. I had never seen a boy this unclothed.

“N-no, I was awake already.” I begged the night to hide my blush.

He was pretty muscular, although I had nothing to compare him to. I was a bit shocked that he was getting naked right in front of me, but it didn’t really bother me much. I stared at him, soaked up his beauty, and wondered if he would ask me to close my eyes.

“Do you mind?” he asked, turning to face me.

“Oh sorry, I’ll get out!” I nearly fell out of my cot, the sheet tangling around my feet. I was in a daze. A warm, heated daze and it made me feel silly and light. I felt like an angel. I felt free.

“No, no. You can stay. I just meant… do you mind me getting undressed in front of you?”

I laughed at his question. He was only in his boxers now. “I guess not.”

A part of me wanted to see him naked. Another part of me was scared.

I suddenly realized that I was biting my lip, hard. There was blood, so much blood.

I wiped my lips nervously with the tips of my fingers. Nothing was there. There was no blood. Was I imagining things? I closed my eyes for a moment and shook away the fear.

Why was he taking so long to get undressed? How many seconds had gone by? It felt like an hour.

“Are you going to say anything, or just stare at me?” He didn’t sound cocky. It was a real question. Maybe he didn’t like me staring so intensely at his scars. For some reason I continued to stare, not knowing what to say, not being able to breathe.

“No, your eyes are just very blue.” It was true, but shit shit shit, I shouldn’t have said it out loud.

“And that scar on your cheek,” he pointed to it while rubbing some type of lotion on his chest.

I covered my cheek in embarrassment. I felt so ugly. So worthless.

“You got that from Mr. Snow?”

“How-how’d you know that?” I asked breathlessly. I couldn’t comprehend how he’d guessed that. I was hoping he wouldn’t even notice.

“I have one too,” he pointed to the giant gash on his shoulder.

The flesh had recently been torn. I looked towards the ground where he had thrown his shirt; there were spots of dry blood. So much blood. I couldn’t erase it from my memory. His face was covered in blood while he stared up at me. I was the angel that was supposed to save him from his pain and his blue eyes marked me like a lit match marks a paper. It was permanent. It could never be undone. I would protect this boy without a second thought.

His scar was much bigger than mine.

His beatings were going to be much worse than mine.

I could already hear his screams.

But I closed my eyes and pushed away the fear. I had to be brave for him. I had to have this one night with him before the light in those blue eyes dimmed and froze to glass waiting to be shattered by death himself.

I had to protect this boy from reality and put him in a coma of safety, and comfort, and warmth.

Peeta and I spent the rest of the night talking about our lives.

I felt so vulnerable, but I suddenly trusted him.

I wanted to tell him everything hidden underneath my tortured skin.

We started to do this every single night. In a way, we became each other’s sanity. The beatings we received didn’t matter, because once they were over we could be back in our bedroom, talking to each other.

Eventually, even holding each other.

The talking never stopped. We shared every detail with each other, and more.

“You have a gift Katniss,” he whispered against my skin.

His lips felt so soft. Each feathery touch sent my body soaring and stitched each inconceivable wound.

I was a leaf in autumn, riddled with bullet holes. Falling, falling, and falling, safely back to earth.

I shook my head in disagreement, unable to stop the giggle that forced its way passed my lips. He always had a way of making me feel things that I’ve never felt before.

“Beauty. You have the gift of beauty.”

He tucked a loose hair behind my ear and kissed me. It was out of nowhere, but I knew it would have happened sooner or later.

His lips were so warm and gentle against mine. I wanted to cry.

And we kept kissing like that when we could. It was hard not being able to jump into his lap and kiss him whenever I wanted to. We didn’t want anyone knowing about our relationship. We were afraid they would separate us.

It wasn’t long until Peeta began having nightmares. He would groan in agony while he slept, dreaming of the blood, the bruises, the scars.

I was the girl behind the wardrobe. I was the angel in the shadows. I was the one who would save him.

From then on, I refused to let him sleep alone. I had to have him in my arms.

He didn’t object.

It made me feel extremely guilty and nervous. I thought my body was a curse, just another wrinkled piece of paper at the bottom of the filing cabinet that hasn’t been touched since it was created, but he thought otherwise.

Being so close with him, being so warm and wanted, I had forgotten about the possibility of him being adopted.

He wasn’t the unwanted child, I was. He wasn’t worthless, I was. He wasn’t in a prison, I was.

And then one day, an old couple from up the street thought they were doing Peeta a favor by trying to adopt him. They had heard rumors of this orphanage being abusive and unstable.

Of course, they never considered me.

Peeta acted out against them and refused to leave with them. The old couple seemed startled at the rejection, but accepted and left without protest.

That day was the hardest. When I found out there was a chance I could lose him to some people who had no clue who he was. I bawled. I cried after the fact that he wasn’t being adopted that day.

He wrapped his arms around me. He whispered words of reassurance. He said that we would always be together, that nothing could separate us.

“I love you, Katniss,” he said, holding my face gently in his hands, and we kissed. The moment was perfect, and I couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone other than Peeta.

“I’m supposed to be here, Katniss. I was supposed to meet you and fall in love with you. I know it,” he looked so deeply into my eyes, I swore he could see straight through to my soul.

And then I fell apart again. I cried because someone had truly cared for me. I cried because I wasn’t the reject, not anymore at least. I cried because I wasn’t worthless. Someone wanted me and I wanted them back.

That night changed everything. Peeta loved me and I loved him, and we both knew it.

But happiness never lasts that long. It’s always taken.

Only a few weeks later, child services broke down the doors of the orphanage. All of the other children ran from the building into the loving arms of the medical staff waiting outside. Peeta and I could hear them as we hid in the space under the staircase.

We knew they would separate us and we would run if we had to, but we couldn’t.

They found us and told us that it was safe to come out.

They said that Mr. Snow was far away and that we’d never have to see him again.

We’d never have to bleed by his hand again.

“I’m not leaving!” I was now screaming at the nice lady who only wanted to help me, but she was going to separate me from Peeta, so she was only going to hurt me.

Peeta was shaking. He was shaking so hard. It reminded me of the day we first met. His eyes were filled with fear. His face was covered in blood. So much blood.

My heart was being ripped out of my chest and put in an electric chair. The shock was so strong that I couldn’t breathe. I thought I smelled burning flesh, but that was just me losing my sanity, losing my Peeta.

I was so out of breath from crying and screaming. I hid my face in my hands and cried, and cried, and cried until I was dizzy and tired.

We had to be separated. They were going to find us new families who would love us and nurture us, but they didn’t know that Peeta was already my family.

“Katniss, listen to me,” I tried to comply with Peeta’s demand, but it was hard to register what he was saying.

“I want you to have a family Katniss, maybe including me someday. But you need a mother and a father who care about you. I know you want that, Katniss. You’ve been searching for it your whole life.”

But I did feel complete. With him.

I just nodded.

“But, we’ll be able to see each other again, won’t we?” I asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

“Of course. I love you, don’t I?” and from that I smiled, trying to block out everything and everyone else trying to separate us. We sat there, holding each other for what I had hoped wouldn’t be the last time.

And here I am, six years later. I still don’t know what my real last name was, but I have now taken on the last name Everdeen from my adoptive parents.

I am getting my English degree and hopefully setting the stage for a career in writing.

I want to share my story because I know I’m not the only one lost in this world.

I never did see Peeta again, but that’s also why I’m writing this story. I hope that he sees it and finds me.

I know he will.

I seal the envelope and slip it into my mail box, flipping up the red flag and sending it off to the magazine who decided that they want the world to hear my story too.

“Nice place.”

I whirl around so fast that I almost trip over myself.

His voice cuts through me like a thousand icicles falling from the sky, into my chest, straight through to my heart.

It can’t be real.

After six years. He’s just here. He’s right in front of me. And I can’t breathe.

He’s so grown and his wounds have healed.

His arms are around me in an instant.

“You- you came back for me,” I can’t stop the sob that escapes and the tears that follow.

My Peeta, he is here, and I’m not dreaming. It’s real.

“I love you, don’t I?” 

I kiss him so hard that we almost tumble off the front porch and into the dirt of the newly planted flowers.

And just as flowers do in the spring, we grow back.

Together.


End file.
